


Through the Dark Places

by MidnightsWaltz



Series: They Who Stand Before The Corrupt and The Wicked [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Eventual Romance, F/M, I will change tags and rating if it comes to it, Past Abuse, The Circle isn't really the WORST place to grow up, but it's not great either, discussions and vague mentions of, if I get up the nerve, past assault, there might be smut one day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-18 22:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20199046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightsWaltz/pseuds/MidnightsWaltz
Summary: Sal Surana's whole life had been the Circle Tower in Fereldan. Dragged there at too young an age, it's the only thing she's known for thirteen years. Suddenly cast out and conscripted into the Grey Wardens. She still finds these Wardens a better option than the oppressive tower she left behind despite the fact that they are heading into battle.She had expected it would be dangerous, she had expected it would be bloody. She had not expected that she would end up one of the last of Fereldan's Wardens. Now branded traitors, Sal and the only other surviving Warden - a fellow rookie and former Templar, Alistair - must drag together a country on the edge of civil war to stop an ancient evil before there is nothing left to fight over.





	Through the Dark Places

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on the fence about sharing this for a while now. Especially since it's little more than an outline in a Scrivener file and few scattered scenes. But I'm starting a new Dragon Age playthrough - Origins to Inquisition - and I wanted to tell my Warden's story (and possibly my Hawke and Inquisitor, too).
> 
> I have no beta and have read and reread this so much, if you noticed any typos, I would appreciate a heads up.

"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

***

The room was still dark when Sal's eyes opened. A strange sensation tickled over her skin as her elven eyes adjusted to the pitch black. She knew that sensation. Her heart lodged in her throat, preventing her from making more than a slight squeak. Templars. Her eyes adjusted revealing three men looming over her, their armor blazing with the Templar emblem. The Templars that preyed on their charges usually waited until they could get their prize alone, not sleeping in the dormitory with eleven other mages within earshot. But there were three of them, and it wouldn't be the first time. And some of the Templars had it out for her since she'd convinced one of their victims to approach the Grand Enchanter. Once the Grand Enchanter knew, the Knight-Commander knew. Greagoir for all his distrust and dislike of mages was, at least, honorable.

The offending man was punished, and the mage transferred to another Circle, away from the clutches of those who would take their frustrations out on her. While the Grand Enchanter has assured Sal that her own part in it was secret, the Tower was a small community. It wouldn't be difficult to find out who had gotten one of their brethren into trouble.

She glanced at her roommates, all sleeping peacefully. Sal opened her mouth to wake them but a quiet but rough voice stopped her. "It's all right, child, come with us." Grand Enchanter Irving stood to the left of the Templars. Immediately, her heart calmed down. There was no way any of these men would try something with him there.

Sal threw back her blanket and climbed from the bed, she didn't even change from her sleeping clothes. Once out into the hall, she turned to Irving, still keeping her voice low. "What is this?"

He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "It is time for your Harrowing."

The Harrowing.

Fear pricked at her fingertips but it was mixed with a heady brew of anticipation. Sal bit her lip, clenching and unclenching her hands Her fingers had gone almost numb as fear traveled the length of her arms and back. None of the apprentices knew exactly what The Harrowing entailed. Only that once you passed you were a full-fledged Circle mage, with the extra rights and a private room to go with it. It was almost the best you could hope for if you were born with magic. The Harrowing, though, was dangerous. Sal had seen more than one apprentice disappear and not return.

Some hadn't disappeared entirely. Some came back Tranquil. A terrible rite that sundered a mage from The Fade. Tranquil mages had no magic and could not be possessed. But they also had no heart, nor minds of their own. She shuttered at the thought of Owain's empty eyes as he went about his work in the stockroom. They were little better than puppets.

Across her mind flashed the image of herself in the stockroom. Mechanically moving boxes and mixing potions as Greagoir watched, satisfied that one more stubborn mage was no longer a problem.

_No._ Sal balled her hands into fists, crossing her arms across her stomach. She stomped on the fear. If she allowed it to continue she would almost certainly fail what was in front of her and she refused to do that.

Irving and the Templars led her down the Circles gray stone halls and up the stairs to the Mage's Hall. The Senior Mages lived on the second floor, which had a similar layout to the ground floor. The living quarters hugged the circular walls. Several large rooms were divided into three smaller sleeping areas, one for each mage to discover some modicum of privacy. Workrooms, a stockroom, and a cafeteria were in the center. A library and study area took a small room southeast of the stockroom, but the small group headed out the north door across from the Senior Mage's workroom.

This was an area of the Tower most students only saw on the way to the chapel. Sal, as Irving's student, had come and gone quite regularly from this place as Irving's office was next to the chapel. Some of the apprentices had made lewd accusations about their lessons, but that was truly all they were. Irving had never made even the slightest hint of something untoward toward her and he had been her teacher since she had arrived at Kinloch Hold.

This time she was led past Irving's office to a stairway leading even further up. They passed the third and fourth floors, Sal barely getting a glance at the Great Hall and Templars' Quarters, until they reached the top floor. Irving had gone on ahead, leaving Sal to take in the massive room with its exquisite floor to ceiling stained glass windows, that painted the marble floor with splashes of reds and blues in the dawning light. Unlike the lower floors, the top of the tower had no inner walls to divide the space. It was just one enormous room. A small part of it occupied by a contingent of Templars.

Every Templar wore a helmet except for two. Knight-Commander Greagoir and one of the younger knights named Cullen. Greagoir approached her, his beard as trim and stiff as he was in that armor. "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him."

_Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift and turned it against his children,_ Sal could quote The Chant, too. Particularly the "gift" part that so many non-mages ignored.

"Thus spoke the prophet, Andraste, as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium," Greagoir continued. "Ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse. The demons of The Fade are drawn to it and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."

Sal wondered just how many mages before her had received the same recitation of everything that had been beaten into their heads since they had been dragged into this prison.

Irving chose to speak. "This is why The Harrowing exists. You will be sent into The Fade to face a demon. With only your will."

What? She could do that in her sleep, literally. She and every mage in the Tower had been defending themselves against demons in their dreams since their magic first manifested. There had to be more to it than that.

"Know this, apprentice," Greagoir said. "If you fail, we Templars will perform our duty. You will die."

Sal glanced over at the only other Templar without a helmet - Cullen. Cullen would not meet her eyes. A sweet young man barely out of training. He still believed in what the Templars were supposed to stand for. A bud of anger bloomed in her chest, not toward the poor man, but to his superior officer. Greagoir must have chosen Cullen to be here for one specific reason: his crush on her was the worst kept secret in the Tower. His sheltered upbringing did not teach him how to hide his infatuation properly. Greagoir wanted to teach him a lesson that each Templar must do their duty, no matter their feelings on the matter.

It was unnecessary. Innocent or not, Cullen was a good soldier. She had no doubt he would kill her if need be, or even if Greagoir just said to.

Irving guided her to a pedestal in the center of the floor, a blue, pulsing liquid shimmered in a bowl perched on top. Lyrium. She only had limited experience with the stuff as she was rarely allowed to experiment beyond her considerable capabilities. The only time Irving had allowed it, she found the stuff rather... unpalatable and decided she would rather out-think than try to overpower herself like that ever again.

"This lyrium is your gateway into the Fade," Greagoir said.

Irving placed a hand on her arm. "The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child."

"Yes, because anyone with half a brain would know how foolish this is," she whispered under her breath. Irving heard her, Greagoir did not.

"I know your feelings on tradition quite well already," he said. "But every mage must go through this. You will succeed as we have. You are very stubborn and clever, but those are not the only weapons you need in there."

"What else do I need?"

"Something that can only be taught through experience," he said.

"She must go through this alone, Grand Enchanter," Greagoir interrupted. His voice actually sounded somewhat amused. "If you are ready?"

Sal approached the pedestal.

The liquid shimmered, giving off a bright light that hurt her eyes. It was more than lyrium in that bowl, it was a spell, woven into the liquid. Only her lifelong trust in Irving allowed her to reach her hand out and meet that spell with her own mana.

The world around her went blinding white, a distant pain marked where she fell to the marble floor.

  


  
***

  
The Fade was not like the physical world. It was the world on the other side of the Veil, where people went as they slept. For mundane people, it could look like anything the sleeper's mind wanted it to. Then there were the mages. Most times, for them, dreams were just like any other, other times it was like the situation Sal now found herself in.

A world of strange colors, some more muted than anything she had seen before, some more brilliant. The land shifted and twisted with no regard for logic. Gravity-defying mountains hung in the air. Though she could not guarantee that the land she now stood on wasn't doing the same from someone else's perspective. The sky was a green haze that had no source she could see. A pedestal lay empty beside her. Old ruins from some half-remembered time loomed over her.

For a moment, Sal stood taking in the unfamiliar curving path in front of her, confused. It took several moments for the memory of the Harrowing Chamber, and her mission here, to return to her. Once it did, she pulled mana from the area to form into an armor of rock around her thin sleeping clothes.

Despite the disorienting nature of the area, walking felt the same as always. The ground under her feet was slightly spongy but firm, she did not fear falling through it. Irritation pricked at the back of her mind at the foolishness that was this test. Demons always plagued mages. Though there were supposedly wards around the Tower, it was nearly impossible for a mage to reach the age of maturity and not have dealt with at least one in their sleep. Sal recalled at least four in her dreams over the past year alone. Her third year in the Tower, she had watched a fellow apprentice become an abomination.

Pierce had been a quiet boy. Never bothered anyone. He was always happy to trade the apple he didn't like for her mashed sprouts. Though he had spoken of having a father, no family ever visited him or wrote. One night they had all gone to bed and Pierce had woken up wrong. She still dreamed of the screams and smell of cooked flesh when two of the other apprentices were turned to ash. She also still dreamed of how cold the Templars were when they killed him.

Abomination or not, that had been a little boy, her friend. They could have at least not stood proudly over his dead body like he had been some boar they had spent days hunting.

Sal's mind was so far in her anger, she didn't notice the wisp until it was already upon her. Just a small, giggling, light, that shot lightning. It hit her side, pain snaked out from the wound. She hissed and swore, and with a word, sent a sharp bolt of light to the fade creature. The bolt barely touched it, before the wisp popped and disappeared. She chastised herself for the distraction. Whatever the fairness or not of the situation, it was the current situation.

And Sal had no intention of giving Greagoir the satisfaction of having Cullen kill her.

After what felt like several miles, and three more wisps to deal with, a new creature appeared on the path. A mouse. A large one.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves," a bitter voice echoed. "As fresh and unprepared as ever." The voice grew angry. "It isn't right that they do this, the Templars. Not to you. Me. Anyone."

"A talking mouse is new," Sal said.

It scoffed. "You look like that because you think you do." It sighed. "It's always the same. But it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you."

With a flash of light, the mouse disappeared and a human man in mage robes appeared. "Allow me to welcome you to The Fade," he said, arms wide open. "You can call me... well, Mouse."

"'Mouse'? What's your real name?" Sal asked.

He shrugged. "I don't remember... I don't remember anything from... before. The Templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you've failed and they don't want to risk anything getting out. That's what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim and you don't have much time. before you end up the same."

Sal just barely managed to not narrow her eyes at Mouse. That was an oddly specific memory for someone claiming to not remember anything? And how exactly, would he have known what the Templars did, or why. Perhaps he was more Fade spirit than human spirit. Fade spirits often collected memories of specific events or subjects. Failed Harrowings and fear seemed as intense as anything a spirit would be interested in. Her own anger could likely affect it, too. She would have to be especially careful with that.

"How much time do I have?"

Mouse looked away. "I ... don't remember. I ran away and hid. I don't know for how long."

So how would he have known that she didn't have much time?

"So, do you know anything about this demon I'm supposed to be facing?"

He shook his head. "Only that they drew it here especially for you. You have to face it and resist it, if you can. That's your only way out. Or your opponent's. Unless the Templars kill you first. A test for you and a tease for the creatures of the Fade."

"Well, then," she said, "perhaps I should continue on. Don't want to give the Templars the satisfaction."

He grinned. "No, we don't. There are other spirits here. Maybe they can tell you more. Or would be willing to help. If you can believe anything you see. I'll follow if that's all right, my chance was long ago, but you... you may have a way out."

She did mind, but telling him so would show her hand and he may be useful until she could. In a flash, he returned to the form of a mouse. Sal continued on the path, Mouse squeaking along behind her. Around the next bend was another wisp, easily dispatched. The spirit wolves that followed after were much more difficult. What she wouldn't give for a staff. She had plenty of mana to deal with spells, especially surrounded by it in the Fade, but a staff would make her affects much more potent. Mouse was pretty useless in a fight. He spent most of his time running away, though one of the wolves did get a good bite in him. The two of them managed to scrape by just barely.

Sal sat for a moment to catch her breath and use magic to heal her wounds. She offered to help Mouse, but he declined, claiming to be uninjured. She didn't see a scratch on him. Her suspicions of him only grew. As she healed, she heard a repeated clanging in the distance. It was too regular for battle and didn't sound like it was getting any closer. She got to her feet and headed in that direction.

"A dangerous spirit is not far," Mouse said. "Do not go near it unless you are ready to fight."

It could either be a sound warning, or an attempt to wave her from someone who could help.

Around the next bend, the ground opened into a plain of fire, nothing appeared or attacked, so they skirted the area and continued on. The next bend and another open area, Sal froze.

Off in the distance, she saw it. She had seen it many times but it never failed to turn her veins to ice. The Black City. A collection of ruins and towers, half crumbled and such a shade of black as to appear as more void than object. It could be seen from every part of the Fade, but never reached. No one in their right mind would want to reach such a horrifying place. According to the Chantry, magisters of the Tevinter Imperium did once. They stormed the Fade in the flesh and broke open the gates of the Golden City, the seat of the Maker, turning it Black. Sal wasn't so sure about what created the Black City.

The Fade was a place where dreams became reality. A thousand years of stories of the Black City. Perhaps that's all it was. The collective nightmare of millions of people over a thousand years made real in the Fade.

Whatever it was, the sight of it still struck her to the bone. Sal turned away.

The clanging sound came from her left. Standing there was a spirit in Templar armor, sword in hand as he swung hitting a practice dummy in perfectly polished arcs. Behind his were several weapons and armor stands, all glowing white as he did. Fire from a nearby forge did not throw off any heat. The spirit noticed their approach and sheathed his sword.

"Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see," his voice rang out across the space between them, confident and clear. "Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill than to be sent unarmed against a demon."

"I suppose it depends on what they wish us to be tested against," Sal said. "Who can throw the best fireball, or who can withstand possession. Possession is their larger concern."

"It seems more they wish to test their Templars against demons," he said.

"Whatever reason," Sal said. "It's still a test I must pass."

"Then I wish you a glorious battle to come."

Sal eyed the Templar emblem on his armor. "What kind of spirit are you?"

"I am Valor. A Warrior spirit," he said. "I hone my weapons in search of the perfect expression of combat."

"You created these weapons?"

"They are brought into being by my will," he said. "I understand in your world mages are the only one who can will things into being. Those mortals who cannot must live such hollow, empty lives."

"The only mundane people I know are Templars, but I think they manage," Sal said. "One of these weapons would affect this demon, yes?"

"Without a doubt," a bit of pride slid into his voice. "Everything that exists is an expression of a thought. Do you think these blades be steel? These staves wood? Do you believe they draw blood? A weapon is a single need for battle, and my will makes that need a reality." His eyes bore into her from behind his helmet. "Do you desire one of these? I will give it to you... if you agree to duel me first. Valor would have your mettle tested as it should be."

Sal narrowed her eyes. She had, in fact, dueled her fellow apprentices before, admittedly as a lesson, under the watchful eyes of their mentors. "And what would be the conditions of this duel?"

"If I believe you capable of killing the demon, I will stop the duel and give you one of my weapons. If I find you unworthy, I will slay you."

Sal glanced over the staves on the weapon stands, her hands itched without one. Despite the Templar emblem, she believed this spirit to be exactly as he said. Either way, it was worth the risk. "Agreed."

"Good. Fight with Valor."

She was barely halfway through the spell for Winter's Grasp when his sword came down. Sal ducked aside, the blade whistling past her shoulder. The spell finished, ice and snow erupted from her hands, freezing Valor in place, just long enough for her to pull out an arcane bolt. It barely did any damage to him, so Flame Blast it was. He cracked the ice while on fire, his sword swung at her again. She spun away, but he nicked her arm. It would have been a worse wound, had she not still had Rock Armor going. Sal grimaced but kept moving, dodging his sword, throwing spells. He continued to swing at her, coming nearer as she dodged away. Another round of Winter's Grasp followed by Flame Blast, Valor fell back.

"Enough!" Valor put his sword away. He didn't look damaged at all. If it wasn't for the waver in his otherwise crystal clear voice, she would never had guessed she had done him any harm. "Your strength is sufficient to the task. The staff is yours."

The staff he presented her with was a style she had only seen once before. Made of Iron, the grip twisted together to meet at a glowing orange jewel at the top. Staffs in the physical world she usually had to attune to, this one knew her the second Valor gave it to her. Perhaps that was an aspect of the Fade it was created from? Or part of Valor's will? His focus on creating weapons for battle could certainly create a staff that would attune immediately to its wielder. She would have to consider it at a later time. At the moment, she had to pass this test. Sal thanked Valor profusely.

He simply bowed. "May you find glory in all your achievements, mortal."

She and Mouse set off again. Three more battles with spirit wolves and wisps, an interesting encounter with a sloth demon who had no interest in battle, but a mild interest in riddles, and it seemed as though she was no closer to finding this demon they had set her up to fight. Mouse continued at her side in bear shape, which the riddles had been payment for. He giggled as he pounced on the spirit wolves, now that he was considerably larger than them. Sal kept a wary eye on him. She hadn't liked agreeing to make him more powerful but it had felt like the only option at the time. Besides it could turn out that he was exactly as he claimed.

The next turn around the bend, Sal's stomach dropped. The path had curled around on itself, dropping her and Mouse near Valor. Was this all it was going to be? Circles? Had Mouse spoke the truth and the Templars felt she had been taking too long? Was she now trapped in the Fade to spend the rest of her consciousness with Mouse? No. She would have known if she had been cut off from her body. And even if she was dead and doomed to wander the Fade, she would at least spend it with Valor, he could teach her something.

Passing by Valor's forge, burning anger began to bubble in her gut. Anger at the Templars who had dragged her into this life when she had been so little she couldn't remember anything else. Anger at the Chantry for setting up this nightmare. Anger at Irving for pretending to care but letting Greagoir get away with this. No. Sal froze. This wasn't right. Yes, she had been carrying a mild annoyance at the situation since they had explained what the Harrowing was back in the chamber. But this anger was too sudden. Too hot. The excuses for it came after like they were fed to her. This temper had no source from within her.

She looked again to the plane of fire they passed again. Fire. Fury. Crackling laughter echoed. Slowly, one hand of pure fire push itself out of the ground, then another. Both hands grasped the strange dirt the Fade was made of and pulled the rest of a body through, leaving a round black mark where it now stood. The being now before them was a creature of molten fire with a vague head-shaped area at the top and long, taloned arms at its side. It had no legs but moved by gliding through the Fade.

"A spirit of rage," Mouse muttered.

She did not need his commentary. She had seen black eyes like this demon's before - looking out through Pierce's ten years ago.

"And so it comes to me at last," the demon's voice echoed in the Fade. "Soon I shall see the land of the living through your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul."

Sal snorted. "Even if you overpower me, all you would see is the Templars cutting you down."

"They are welcome to try," it growled, turning its head to Mouse who now stood in human form. "So this is your offering, Mouse? Another plaything, as per our arrangement?"

Arrangement? Sal was almost - _almost_ \- disappointed.

Mouse's voice shook as he quivered before the demon. "I'm not offering you anything. I don't have to help you anymore."

The Rage demon cackled. "After all those wonderful meals we shared? The mouse has changed the rules?"

"I'm not a mouse now," Mouse said. "And soon, I won't have to hide. I don't need to bargain with you."

"We shall see."

Four wisps surrounded them. Mouse turned back into a bear.

"Mouse, deal with the wisps," she ordered. He ignored her and pounced on the demon. Sal cussed. Fine, he could deal with her test, she took out the wisps one at a time. Dodging and deflecting their shots. Once they were gone, she turned back to the demon and Mouse.

Giving him a bear shape did not make Mouse a better fighter. He had fallen back, much of his fur singed away leaving reddish skin underneath. Sal used Winter's Grasp on the demon. It froze in place, giving her a moment to stab it through with the end of her staff. The ice shattered, the demon screamed, melting back into the Fade.

That was entirely too easy.

Mouse returned to human form. "You did it! You actually did it. When you came, I thought you might be able to, but I never really thought any of you were really worthy!"

A demon chosen for her specifically. Why would they choose a demon of rage? Did they know she was still haunted by Pierce? Did they see her struggle to control her temper? Or did they see something else?

"The ones before me, Mouse. The ones you betrayed. What were their names?"

"What?" He waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Oh, they were not as promising as you. It was a long time ago."

'Promising'. Yes. that's what they called her. That's why she had the Grand Enchanter himself as her mentor.

"I don't remember their names," he insisted. "I don't even remember my own name. It's the Fade, and the Templars killing me. Like they're trying to do to you."

She recognized the tone, the words he had been using. Flattery, commiseration. What you did when you were about to ask a favor. "What is it you want, Mouse?"

"You defeated a demon. You completed your test," he said, all hesitation gone. "With time you will be a master enchanter with no equal. And maybe there's hope in that for someone as small and... forgotten as me. If you want to help. There may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold on the outside."

More praise. Playing either on her compassion or her... All the pieces slipped together then into one large picture so obvious she was annoyed at herself for not seeing it sooner. It wasn't her temper Irving had warned her about many times over the years.

"You just need to want to let me in," Mouse said.

Sal narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm starting to believe _that_ demon was not my actual test."

Mouse reeled back, eyes wide. "What? What are you...? Of course it was! What else is here that could harm an apprentice of your potential?"

Sal crossed her arms across her chest and scowled at him. Mouse's innocence dropped away. His eyes turned black, his grin became malicious. "Oh, you are a smart one." Mouse's voice became a low growl. "Simple killing is a warrior's job. The true dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust. And pride." Mouse's form grew and shifted. What was once an average human became a towering purple monstrosity. It's form covered in spikes and arcs of lightning. A demon of Pride. Sal stared up, her heart hammering in her chest. For the first time, she wasn't entirely sure she could fight this creature. But it just cackled. "Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end."

In another flash, it was gone and Sal was back on the floor of the Harrowing Chamber. Irving sitting by her head, Greagoir leaning over. The Knight-Commander stared into her face and eyes for several, long seconds.

"She remains herself," he declared, having enough decency not to sound disappointed. Cullen nearby visibly relaxed, removing his hand from the pommel of his sword with a smile. It was a nice smile. A small part of her thought if things had been different, maybe she could have returned that crush.

Sal turned to her teacher. "Something that can only be taught through experience. Humility."

He patted her shoulder. "I am proud of you, child."

"Congratulations," Greagoir said.

A heaviness had begun to settle into her body. For something that had only happened in her mind, her body was certainly beginning to feel the long journey and the battles. "I think I might just sleep right here, if you don't mind."

Irving chuckled, pulling her into a standing position. For such an old man, he still had some strength left. "Your bed will be much more comfortable. Cullen, could you and Derek, please, see Sal back to her bed safely."

Greagoir looked like he wished to argue, but he refrained, having no valid reason to do so. Derek was another Templar who had yet to have the noble ideas of his work scoured from him. She managed to remain on her feet down to the third floor, at which point, Derek and Cullen ended up carrying her. She could still feel their hands as they laid her, rather gently, onto the mattress, and she fell into a blissfully, dreamless sleep.


End file.
